


Most Wanted

by cenotaphs



Category: White Collar
Genre: Bisexual Characters, F/M, M/M, Not AU, Role Reversal, Temporary Amnesia, if you think Peter would not be Good at Crime you are wrong, polygamy in its infant stages
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:55:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25196560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cenotaphs/pseuds/cenotaphs
Summary: An accident while undercover leads to Peter forming the wrong idea about who he is and what he does. Neal does not appreciate this role reversal in the slightest. Except when he does.
Relationships: Elizabeth Burke/Peter Burke, Peter Burke/Neal Caffrey
Comments: 22
Kudos: 59





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Chicago's Most Wanted](https://archiveofourown.org/works/241899) by [Speranza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Speranza/pseuds/Speranza). 



> This story is a completely blatant homage (read: ripoff, but I'm open about it?) to an old due South fic I used to love, Chicago's Most Wanted, by Speranza. It's a classic. Everything Speranza wrote was classic. I steal many, many things from that story. But come on, what a perfect plot for White Collar. This would have been an amazing episode of the show. Except for the sexy parts, maybe. (But those too, really. Hit me up, Matt and Tim, I'll write the screenplay.)
> 
> Anyway, here. Part One.

Neal despised being the one in the van. 

It wasn’t the smells or the closed confines or the tedious company. It was the sheer. Unmitigated. Boredom. 

He wasn’t an agent; he didn’t have monitors to observe or things to report, so he was basically a barnacle attached for the trip, and nothing else. He would have whined and complained until he was so annoying they sent him home, except, in a rare occurrence, the agent they had undercover was his own partner. 

Peter hated doing undercover work, but sometimes he was the obvious choice.

They were after Bernard Ellison and his ever-changing crew of flunkies. His specialty was banks, in two-pronged attacks. The flunkies would wave guns and threaten and shout, rob the tellers, do everything a regular pack of bank robbers would do. 

Meanwhile, usually unnoticed at the time, Ellison himself and his financial guy would take over one of the computers and rob from the inside. They’d pick one or two major accounts and drain them dry, and it would get lost in the chaos of the robbery long enough for them to transfer funds out and send them bouncing to accounts all over the world, break them apart and shift them around. There were techs still trying to reach the end of the trail for robberies that happened weeks ago. 

White Collar had identified the current money guy and arrested him, and like a hell of a lot of white collar bad guys he sang like a bird the minute he was threatened with real time. 

So now Peter was in there playing the role of Phillip Lassiter, a disgraced embezzler who, while caught and blackballed, was also so good that his guilt was supposedly never proven. Good with numbers, good with computers, bad at morals. As much as he balked at undercover, he was the obvious choice to go in quickly.

Ellison had bit the hook almost the moment they met. 

Peter had sat in through most of the planning sessions for this upcoming heist, terse and bitter and not very chatty, which seemed to make Ellison trust him more. Didn’t surprise Neal: for a guy who hated undercover, Peter was good at instinctively knowing how to approach different people. 

Phil wasn’t giving Ellison a lot of input into his plans, but then they seemed to be set up mostly the same. Neal got to hear it over the monitors in the van during their meetings, and he got to hear all about it afterwards, when Peter would sit with Neal at June’s with a beer and bitch about how the stupid criminals just weren’t fun, before he went home to forget work entirely. 

“There’s no planning here. Just blow everything to hell and try to sneak a few million out like a couple of hours’ head start is a real keystone to the plan. The guy has a brilliant way to get his money out of the country without ever touching it, we _still_ can’t trace it, and he’s using it _this_ way. It’s the kind of plan a stupid person would think sounded smart.” 

Neal had laughed at him. “Someday you’re just going to admit outright that I ruined you for all other criminals.” He caught the bottle cap Peter lobbed at him easily. 

Still, Peter’s frustration was real, and being undercover for a week was enough to really wear him out. Luckily the heist was planned for the next day, and then it would be done. 

Today was about going over last-minute things, making sure everyone knew the plan. Ellison had a lot of turnover with his crews, and for some reason he preferred it that way, but it meant he had to retrain the whole crew before every job. 

Neal already knew that Peter wasn’t happy going into the day. Ellison insisted on his presence, but as far as action went his job didn’t require any. He and Ellison would already be in the bank, would sneak back to the computers once the madness happened, and be among the hostages when the robbers finally left. 

So all Peter could do was endure a few hours more with these guys he already didn’t like, and all Clinton and Diana and poor, poor Neal could do was listen to him listening to them. 

Peter told Neal that eventually he’d grow to appreciate the boring days. Neal wasn’t that grown yet. 

Ellison’s voice was droning from a small speaker, and the camera in Peter’s glasses was capturing not a lot more than how bored he was as the image constantly wandered away from the group before Peter remembered the camera and focused again. 

“He’s giving me motion sickness,” Clinton said finally, rubbing his eyes and looking away from the screen. 

“Hazard pay,” Diana answered without looking away from the screens. “I’ll back your claim.” 

“That’s my girl.” 

They exchanged a quick fist bump without even looking at each other. 

Neal rolled his eyes. 

A loud knock came through the monitor suddenly, and a strange voice. 

“Jason Andrews?” 

On screen the men all jumped to attention. The guy whose apartment they were in, who Neal supposed was probably Jason Andrews, shot a wild look around. 

Peter answered, voice loud and authoritative. “Who’s asking?” 

“NYPD. We’ve got a warrant.” 

“Shit.” Diana straightened from her slouch and grabbed her phone. “They’re gonna wreck this.” 

Peter faced the door, so Neal missed watching the other men’s reactions. “Search or arrest?” 

“Sir, just open the damn--” 

“Do you have a search warrant, or an arrest warrant?” 

“What’s he doing?” Clinton leaned in while Diana hissed over the phone. 

Peter looked to the other men. He moved close, pitching his voice low. “Luke, you don’t have a record, right? If they see you, you’ll be fine. So go out the window, down the fire escape. If you get down without seeing cops, whistle, we’ll send Jason out and then the rest of you. I’ll stall these guys.” 

Ellison stared at him for a moment that might have turned dangerous, but then he nodded agreement and steered them towards the window. 

“Diana, how long until you reach someone?” 

“I’m on hold. Fucking precincts never know what’s going on with each other.” 

On the monitor, Peter moved to the door. “Slide the warrant under the door.” 

“Sir, I really suggest you do as we--” 

“I am already tired of repeating myself.” Peter adopted a snide tone, glancing back to the window. The first kid was already out of sight. “I am an American, I know my rights. Let me see the warrant first.” 

“Son of a...” There was shuffling from the other side of the door. 

Neal grinned and shook his head proudly. “I am really rubbing off on him.” 

“Literally? Because there’s a bet going around the team about that.” 

“Seriously? About Peter and me?” He traded grins with Clinton. “What side is your money on?” 

Clinton shrugged. “Just a matter of time.” 

Neal’s eyebrows hiked up, since he seemed to be relatively serious. “Does Peter know?” 

“Oh my lord in heaven, no. And you keep your mouth shut. It’s the most entertaining pool around right now.” 

Diana looked up from her intent phone conversation. “Shit, what’s the street address of that apartment?” 

Clinton looked around instantly. 

Neal turned his eyes to the monitor. 

Peter had a crumbled form in his hand, looking from it to the window. It looked like all the other guys had made it out, which meant Peter was trying to decide between following or IDing himself to these cops. 

Neal frowned. “Go, Peter. Ellison won’t trust you if you talk your way out of this.” 

Peter seemed to come to the same conclusion. He called through the door, “I’m going to the next page. Give me a minute here.” 

“We’re prepared to knock this door down.” 

Peter’s scoff of air was audible. “I’ve got a lawyer on speed dial, so I’m ready whenever you are.” 

“Two minutes, and then we’re coming in either way.” 

Peter dropped the paper on a nearby chair and headed for the window, quick and quiet. The footage got shaky as he climbed his way out the window into the sunshine. The fire escape was narrow, but not nearly as decrepit as many of them were. 

He headed down and murmured as he went, knowing they’d hear it in the van. “Think I worked this out, but I’m sticking with Ellison to make sure.” 

They didn’t have two-way communication for this one, but Clinton and Neal relaxed. Diana was still on the phone, just in case. 

“Damn it,” Peter hissed just a few seconds later. “Problem.” 

The problem was a police car at the end of the alley, driving in fast. Apparently they’d noticed the other men getting away. 

Peter jumped down from the top of the first flight instead of moving down the steps. He hauled ass away from the car, and Neal could barely see the rest of Ellison’s team charging out ahead of him. The car coming up behind him blared its siren in warning, but Peter kept moving. 

Diana was all but shouting into the phone. “How many warrants for guys named Jason Andrews could you possibly have? Your guys are chasing an undercover FBI agent, call them off!” 

Peter was nearing the end of the alley, racing after the rest of the team. He was hardly breathing hard, but his voice shook with motion as he talked for the mic again. 

“Stay back, Diana. Let us get a few blocks away. It’s not gonna take much to spook these guys after--” 

And then it happened, sudden and jarring. 

Peter charged out of the alley and there was a second police car coming at him. Not full speed, but in pursuit. Peter had too much momentum to stop, and the car, Neal would realize later, never tried to brake or swerve. 

The thumps when the hood of the car hit him were jarring, and even Diana went dead silent, staring at the monitor. The loud thud of his body, and a softer but more jarring thud as his head slammed into the hood. 

“Peter!” Neal couldn’t stop the useless shout. 

But the force of the hit must have taken out his glasses, because the picture cut out. No sound but faint static came from the speaker. 

Clinton reacted first. “Brace everything, we’re going over there!” He charged out the door and to the front of the van. They were only two blocks down or so, but with the cops driving like fucking assholes the van was safer. 

Diana was yelling into the phone. “You assholes just struck a federal agent with your god damn car! Do you understand that?” 

Neal reached out and caught her as the van lurched into motion, since she was too focused on the call to bother bracing. He pushed her straight and she didn’t even acknowledge him. “Somewhere around 55th and Liberty. This isn’t rocket science!” 

The van screeched to a halt after just a minute, and Neal flung the door open and looked around, listening for sirens and checking for lights in the sunshine. 

He spotted a flash of red and blue, and charged. Two sets of footsteps followed close behind him. 

He charged down the same alley Peter had run through, seeing the cop car stopped in the opening on the end. He shouted as they approached, in case these assholes liked shooting as much as they liked running over people. 

“FBI!” 

He bounced off the car that had hit Peter as he reached it, too fast to stop in time. He looked around wildly. “Where is he?” 

There was only one cop there, with three cars. The cop was on the radio, but he jumped out of the car as Neal charged up. “Hey! Back up!” 

“FBI, asshole! The man you hit was one of ours!” Clinton all but threw his badge at the guy. 

He caught it clumsily, swearing under his breath. “We just got the call, yeah.” 

Neal was stuck staring at the dent in the hood. Blood, smeared over the crumpled metal. 

“Where the hell is he?” 

“They’re on the run, the whole group of them.” 

“So he’s not hurt?” Diana sounded as dubious as Neal felt. He could still hear that thump in his head. 

“I don’t know. But his friends came back for him.” 

Neal blinked at that, attention caught. “They did?” They hadn’t seemed like the loyal kind of criminals. Those were few and far between as it was. 

“Yeah. Pulled some guns on us and carried him off.” 

“Shit.” Diana scowled. “So he might be really hurt.” 

“Looked like it. And my partner clipped one of the other ones in the shoulder. They won’t get far.” 

Yes, they would. Ellison ran with punk street thugs but he himself was loaded, and though he was stupid he was cautious. He’d have something big enough to move them parked nearby. 

“God damnit.” Diana grabbed her phone. “Jones, get back to the van and see if any of the equipment on him is still working. Neal...” 

She was too late. He was already running. If Peter was anywhere in sight, he was damn well going to find him. 

* * *

“So, long story short...we lost him.” 

Hughes peered up at the three of them, still and silent as a gargoyle. 

Neal did everything he could to avoid meeting those eyes without being obvious that was what he was doing. 

“You lost him.” 

Even Diana shifted awkwardly under his stare. “Yes, sir.” 

“You... _misplaced..._ a federal agent.” 

“I think it’s pretty obvious that the NYPD actually--” 

Hughes eyes shifted to Clinton, whose voice cut off instantly. 

“Sir.” Neal spoke up confidently, since that’s what he did. “Peter’s cover is still intact. I’d say it’s stronger than ever. With two hurt men Ellison will have to postpone his plans, which means they’ll lay low somewhere. Keep quiet. It should be long enough for us to find them.” 

“If Peter isn’t seriously injured. And if they decide to hang on to him and don’t just dump him off a bridge somewhere.” 

Neal winced. 

“And _if_ he isn’t half-conscious and rambling and giving his entire identity away to a pack of criminals. And _if_ Ellison decides not to just cut and run and try again later.” 

Neal’s eyes flitted to the side, to Diana. He shrugged. He’d tried. 

“Damn it.” Hughes moved finally, leaning back in his chair. “Okay, we lost the bugs we had on Peter, right?” 

“Yeah. He lost the glasses on the street, and the mic in his button hasn’t broadcast since so we’re pretty sure it’s shattered.” 

“We didn’t have a tracker on him?” 

Diana let out a breath. “None of the previous meetings he’s been to made us think it was necessary.” 

Hughes’ lips pressed flat. But he would have known that that was Peter’s call, not any of the junior agents. “So what do we have? We have IDs on his guys, so let’s focus on them. Jason Andrews won’t be going home anytime soon, but the others...” 

“We’re on it.” 

Neal spoke fast, before they could break up. “The cops said they shot one of them in the shoulder. A white kid, so either Jason or what’s his name, their driver. Can’t be a good wheelman with one arm.” 

Hughes was on the same page. “Okay, you get out there with your contacts. See if Nick Halden can get hired on to Ellison’s crew. Find out where these kids hang out, make friends. Do whatever you need to do. Caffrey, you’re dismissed.” 

He headed out of the office, used to being sent away so the real cops could talk privately. 

But after only another minute Clinton and Diana emerged, looking grim. 

He called to them as they came down the stairs. “He pissed?” 

Diana sent him a stark look. “We have to go in person and tell Elizabeth what happened.” 

Neal winced. 

He was pissed. 

* * *

He came to with a groan that quickly turned into nausea. He was on his side, head both pounding and spinning in turns. His whole body hurt. His ribs hurt, breathing hurt. 

Son of a bitch. 

He wanted to sit up, take stock. He wasn’t where he was supposed to be, he knew that. Something had obviously gone very wrong. 

But it was a struggle to even push his eyes open. He closed them again at the vividness of the light around him, venting another low groan. 

Pain _hurt._

“Hey, man, you up?” 

The voice, unfamiliar and way too close, made his eyes jerk open again. The light seemed to slice through straight to his brain, but he bore it. 

Standing over him was a young Black guy, dark skinned, short black hair in tight curls, broad shoulders. Nose that had seen a break or two. Big smile, though. “Hey! Shit, had us worried.” 

He sank back against what he realized was a pretty comfortable pillow. “Wha’ happen?” 

“Man, you got creamed by the cops. They drove right into you, bam!” The guy’s too loud voice pitched lower, thankfully. “Ellison wanted us to keep moving, but Jason and me...you helped us, so we helped you.” 

He frowned, trying to make those words make the sense he figured they should make. Jason. Ellison. He had absolutely no mental pictures to put to those names. 

“Hey. Man, look, we raided a drug store, got all kinds of the good shit. You’ve been on a codeine high for almost a day already. Want more of that, or...?” 

“No.” His voice was strained. The throb in his head was getting unbearable. “Just. Tylenol. Don’t wanna sleep.” 

“You got it. And don’t worry,” the cheerful guy kept going as he moved away from the bed and started rustling through bags. “We got you all patched up. I mean, as much as we could. Ellison’s pretty sure you’ve got some busted ribs, but just cracks, no breaks. Still, we googled that shit, got you wrapped up all neat and tight. You’re gonna be okay.” 

That was comforting, he supposed. 

The guy appeared looming over him again, a pill bottle in hand. He reached for a table beside the bed and took up a half full glass of water. “Okay. Think you can sit up?” 

He couldn’t, but he could lift his shoulders up off the mattress a few inches. That was good enough. The young guy helped him, supported his neck, nice and gentle. 

He grimaced after he swallowed, but knew a short nap and he’d wake up feeling at least a little better. “Thanks.” 

The guy grinned again, downright sweet. “No problem, Phil. We owe you. The way you came up with the plan and handled those cops...” 

He blinked. “Phil?” 

The guy’s grin faded down a little. “Uh. Yeah. You said it was okay to call you that.” 

“I did?” He thought about that. “I guess that means...my name is Phil?” 

“I guess so. You don’t remember?” 

“No.” 

“Oh. You remember me?” 

He squinted at the kid. “No.” 

The guy’s eyes went round. “Uh. Oh, shit, this is some made-for-TV shit right here. Let me go get Ellison.” 

But Phil was asleep again before he could come back. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Burke is a team leader. Even when he doesn't know it.

The young Black guy who’d helped Phil after he first woke up was named Luke. There were two more kids – mid-twenties, but his brain called them kids all the same – named Shankar (a good-looking idiot, from what Phil could tell) and Jason (loud, abrasive dick), and a third one who had been shot. It was clear quickly that Phil was never gonna meet the third guy, because Ellison was done with him. 

Bernard Ellison, who was apparently running the whole show. The mastermind. He was the reason they were all shacked up in a ridiculous hotel suite: Ellison had the penthouse all alone, but his ‘crew’ deserved at least a multi-bedroom suite. Seemed nice of Ellison, really. 

Phil had barely spoken to the guy, he didn’t have a strong opinion yet. All he knew was this was an independently rich guy who apparently liked crime. 

Ellison had taken in the situation with Phil’s memory, talked to Phil for about two minutes, and then left with the instructions that if Phil wasn’t back to useable condition by the end of the day, he was out on the street. Phil couldn’t really judge him for that, though, it made sense. 

“So, here.” Luke kept on being helpful, and Phil couldn’t tell if it was because of Ellison’s orders or because he was a genuinely sweet kid. 

Phil took the wallet he was holding out. Leather. It looked pricy but worn. Made sense. Luke told him he was the numbers guy, whatever that meant. Phil used to be some hot shot financial planner or something who went dirty and got caught and was now pulling crimes in the open. 

Seemed pathetic to Phil. 

He flipped the wallet open and stared down at the ID. Phillip Lassiter. Meant nothing to him. 171 E 104th St. Apartment 520. Blank.

The face looking up at him was smooth and smarmy. Nothing like the old, tired face that had looked back at him in the bathroom mirror, underneath the bandages covering his hair. But the face itself, both in the picture and in the mirror, was a total stranger. 

It was a disconcerting feeling, but somehow Phil couldn’t muster up that much upset about it. Maybe it helped that he was in a lavish hotel suite, and he was surrounded by people who apparently knew him. The pain in his head was getting better bit by bit, that probably helped too. 

“Anything?” Luke asked suddenly. 

Phil blinked up at him, then grimaced and dug into the wallet. “Nope.” 

“Damn.” 

It was mostly bare. A worn-out bank card, a MetroCard that looked well used. 

And wasn’t that annoying? He could glance at the top of a card and identify it as being for the subway. He could picture the subways, no confusion there. He just had no memory of taking it, or where he might have stopped. 

There were a few punch cards from local shops. He was two stamps away from some free froyo, which seemed like the ultimate nail in the coffin for Phil’s pathetic life. 

Eighty-seven bucks in cash. No pictures. No sign that anyone in the world was out there missing him. 

He looked up at Luke. “How long have you known me?” 

Luke shrugged. “Man, like a week? Not long.” 

Maybe that explained why none of these guys brought back any memories. “You know where I live?” 

“Address on the license, I guess.” 

“No, that’s upper west side, that's money. If I’m hard up enough to be planning bank robberies I don’t think I live in my old place anymore. Probably just didn’t get the ID updated. Would’ve made the move too real.” 

Luke blinked wide eyes. “You’re Sherlocking your own life. That’s cool. But you don’t talk all that much, I don’t really know where you live. You didn’t sleep here with the rest of us, but I don’t know where you went or who you stay with or anything.” 

No one, Phil had no doubt. He’d lost everything somewhere along the way. There was a tan line on his ring finger. 

Amnesia was probably a blessing. 

“Well.” He snapped the wallet shut and tossed it on the bedside table. “Forget it, then. I’m guessing I’m better off walking away. Let’s talk about whatever the hell this plan is.” 

* * *

It didn’t surprise Neal too much when the knock on the door turned out to be Elizabeth. He moved to the side to let her in instantly. 

She wasted no time, crossing into the apartment with determination. “It's nearing thirty-six hours now. You’ll tell me more than Reese.” 

Of course he would. “Come on, sit. Want a drink?” 

“Neal.” 

Right. He headed for the table, but changed direction and lead her out to the roof garden. The sun had set maybe an hour ago, and the lights of the city were bright. Close enough to let Neal constantly feel the life in the city, but far enough away that there was some peace in it. 

It was his favorite place in the apartment, by far. 

She followed him out patiently, but the moment she stopped and turned to him he could tell from the solemnity in her eyes that she was done with waiting. 

“Okay. What do you already know?” 

“Same as yesterday. Peter is still undercover, but you’ve lost contact. He might be hurt.” 

“That’s the basic gist. I’m going tomorrow to make nice with one of his guys, Shankar Laghari. Ellison’s being smart, keeping his crew close after the run in with the cops, but Shankar was asking around for drivers today, got Mozzie’s attention. I’ll go tomorrow, we’ll find Peter, easy as that.” 

“Okay.” She drew in a deep breath, and then let it out. “That doesn’t sound so bad.” 

“It’s not. I mean, it’s not an ideal situation, this whole thing. We’ll all feel better once we know Peter’s not concussed or anything. But his cover is strong.” 

“So, you’re not worried?” Her eyes pierced into him. 

He meant to grin and agree, but. Elizabeth Burke was the strangest mix of a beautiful, smart, strong woman and an unholy demon who could sway him with a flash of those vulnerable baby blues. 

The list of people Neal had trouble lying to was miniscule, but she was on it. 

He sighed. “I’ll be worried no matter what until he’s back. But I don’t think this is the most dangerous thing he’s done even this month.” 

She relaxed a fraction at that. “Thank you.” Worry still pinched at the corners of her eyes, but like Neal she wasn’t going to be comforted entirely until Peter was back with her. 

She smiled after a moment. “You know, you’re good at honesty when you give it a shot.” 

"I'm good at everything. You want that drink now?"

Elizabeth seemed to consider it, but sighed. "I should head home soon, just in case. Just...a few more minutes in company, if that's okay."

"Definitely okay." Neal nudged her arm lightly. “So you’ll never guess what Peter’s team is taking bets on.” 

She laughed. “If it’s anything to do with his sex life, I won’t be surprised. They do that with everybody.” 

“They’re a pack of perverts over there, I can’t believe I never suspected.” He grinned. “It’s about him and me.” 

She nodded, the worry easing out of her brow finally. “Yep, I’ve got a few bucks in that game.” 

He huffed a breath. No doubt, she of all people knew it was a sure bet. “I wonder when the clock runs out on that bet. It’s hard to win when you bet on a thing never happening.” 

She drifted towards the far wall, looking out at the skyline. She looked a little more peaceful, at least, so he figured his work was done. 

“You know there’s one about all three of us, too.” 

Neal whistled, following her over to take in the view. “These people think Peter Burke is much more open-minded than I do. Either that or FBI agents like losing money.” 

She laughed and glanced his way. After a moment the laugh faded into surprise. “Wait. You’re serious?” 

“Uh, yeah. I mean I’m sure the man’s not a prude, looking at the hot wife he scored, but.” 

She laughed again, but this time it was different, more directed at Neal than shared with him. “You know, Neal, you are so observant so much of the time that sometimes it doesn’t even occur to me that you don’t know everything about everyone.” 

Neal’s amusement melted into curiosity. “What’s that supposed to mean? You two really do have wild threesomes with male CIs?” 

“Actually, no, that’s never come up.” She leaned back against the railing, looking out over the city. Her smile faded. “Tell me he’s gonna be okay.” 

Neal sighed, following her gaze over the familiar lights. He wondered suddenly how close Peter might be to them at that exact moment. 

His mind kept replaying the cold thump of Peter’s head hitting the police car. 

“He’ll be okay,” he said after too long a pause. But really it was more to reassure them both than it was an answer to her specifically. 

It wasn’t until sometime later, long after she was gone, that Neal realized she had used her worry to redirect him from his admittedly nosey questions. 

Apparently, she was pretty good at _dis_ honesty when she gave it a shot. 

* * *

“And this is where you come in.” Bernard Ellison had been kind enough to come down and join them when they were coaching Phil on the plan to see if he could keep up. He had printed materials and everything. He seemed proud of the whole thing. 

Phil took the papers from Ellison and blinked down at them. Numbers, big numbers in long columns, but as he scanned the sheet it made sense. It had to be an internal document. Account numbers, balances. Flat and sterile, without personal information or activity. 

The numbers were easy to understand, he was pleased to realize. They felt far more familiar to him than his own driver’s license, his photo, his name. Those still felt completely alien. 

“The three I circled, we’re gonna go in and drain them. They’re not the biggest accounts, so the bank shouldn’t notice right away. I’ve got the accounts for the wire transfers set. Once the money is out it’s virtually untraceable, and since we’re hitting from inside the bank’s system, security is no real issue. If you can remember what the hell you’re doing, anyway.” 

Phil rubbed at his aching head, frowning up at Ellison. “So...this is gonna net about four million.” 

“In ten minutes.” Ellison nodded, chin held high. 

He frowned back at the sheets. 

“You can’t do it, can you? You have no idea what’s going on.” That was Andrews, loud-mouthed dick that he was. 

Phil shot a frown at him. “The adults are speaking. Shut up.” 

Andrews rolled his eyes but looked away. Apparently, there was nothing new about Phil being a grouch. 

He peered at the full list of accounts, the absurd balances on some of them. “If the money’s untraceable why do you care if the banks notice right away or not?” 

“Because.” 

Phil looked up at Ellison when he realized that was his entire answer. 

Ellison heaved a sigh as if inconvenienced. “Because this is about the chase. How long they take to catch on, and what they do to come after us. Besides, if we take more than a few million at a time they’ll probably send the big guns after us.” 

“You think they won’t call the feds for four million dollars?” 

“Sure they will, but we won’t be the highest priority for those feds.” Ellison spoke confidently. 

Phil had absolutely no idea how he knew – which was becoming an annoyingly familiar feeling already – but he _knew_ the guy was dead wrong. “The chase. So you want them chasing you, just not too hard? What’s the point?” 

“The point is...” Ellison scowled after a moment. “The point is that it’s my money paying for all this, and my plan. So just shut up and do it.” 

Phil looked up at him, eyebrows rising. 

His brain was fried, whatever. There was a lot he didn’t know about himself. But he really, really didn’t think he was the kind of guy who would let someone talk to him like that for very long, boss or not. The more the head guy had to throw his weight around, the less weight he actually had. 

He knew that. Some damn how, he knew it. This guy didn’t know shit about leading a team. 

“Hey, so...is it okay?” Luke spoke up suddenly, timid after Ellison’s sharpness. “The plan? It’ll work, right?” 

Ellison glared over at him. “It’s worked three times already. This guy doesn’t know what--” 

“Three times. What a gigantic fucking waste.” 

There was a beat. Ellison looked back at Phil, intense. “Excuse me?” 

Phil gestured at the pages. “This is the stupidest plan I’ve ever heard.” 

Ellison’s face instantly went red. 

“To be fair, you don’t remember shit about other plans you’ve ever heard,” Luke said after a moment as they all watched Ellison changing colors. 

Phil was unbothered. “You’re telling me that you have a system in place to vanish money through overseas transfers and secret accounts, and this is what you’re doing with it? Four million dollars a pop, during robberies that attract all this attention and _absolutely_ have the feds looking for you already?” 

Ellison’s fists clenched, but Phil wasn’t scared of violence. He knew a fellow paper-pusher when he saw one. Apparently. 

“I’m up twelve million dollars in six weeks. You think you have a better idea?” 

Phil waved the pages in his hand. “This! This is a better idea.” 

“What’s ‘this’?” Jason crept around Ellison and wandered towards him, obviously trying not to look too eager. 

“Look...” Phil leaned in, spreading the papers over the coffee table so they could all see. “This is one of the biggest banks in the city. These are just their higher balance investment accounts. You want to hit one for everything, but we could hit every last one of them. And forget this fed bullshit, we can do it without anyone even knowing.” 

“Just take all this money without anyone knowing?” 

“Not all of it. Not even a lot of it.” Phil sat up, looking around at all the strangers around him. “Listen, if we hit every single account here for, say, five percent of its balance, we’d make over a hundred million in one pop.” 

Every person in that room gaped at him. 

“Hang on.” Phil gestured. “Five percent is way too high, that’s just an example. We go to one, maybe even half a percent, but from every single account. If we do it without the guns and shouting, we could go undetected for weeks. Months. Hell, we could make it continuous: every time the balance is adjusted at day’s end we could slide out a few bucks. Infiltrate once, get paid for the life of the accounts.” 

“Is that...” Ellison’s face was going back to its former tanned color. “That’s...a thing?” 

“I don’t know. If I’ve done it before I don’t remember. But I know numbers. Banks are nothing but numbers. I don’t think I’m some genius hacker or anything, but I can handle coding. Give me an extra day, I can figure this out.” 

“And nobody would notice the money coming out every day?” 

Phil shrugged. “We’re talking multimillion-dollar investment accounts, numbers that go up and down by the day as the market loses or gains value. The only problem I could see is removing the money in a way that doesn’t show up on activity statements.” 

“Okay, see? That’s something we don’t know how to do.” 

“So we figure it out. We could spoof the week’s activity and bury it underneath. Nobody regularly checks what was going out of their accounts a week ago. Or we could look at the statements and see how the bank itself codes fees or deductions, and just add our own version. It would blend in perfectly.” 

“Holy shit.” Luke was staring at Phil like he was superman. “Why didn’t you tell us about all this sooner?” 

“Who knows. But look, if we do this my way,” he said with aside look at Ellison, “we don’t need the guns and violence. In fact, that just calls attention to the fact that something illegal’s going on.” 

“So how do we get into the bank’s internal systems?” Ellison asked sharply. 

Phil shrugged. “Con ‘em.” 

“Con?” 

His head gave an uncomfortable throb, but he went on fast. “Guys in Central Park do it to crowds of tourists every day. Our version would just require more finesse and planning.” 

“Uh huh. Well, as impressive as that sounds, it’s not really a plan, is it? _Maybe_ you can figure out some code, and _maybe_ we can figure out some con. But that takes time, and we’re already losing days as it is. So I say we keep planning the First National job my way until you work out your...” Ellison twirled a finger between them idly, “...little scheme.” 

Phil’s eyebrows rose. This guy was in charge, that was clear. His strategy for getting money out untraceably was invaluable. It was important. But he was rapidly running out of patience with his attitude. 

Still, the younger guys around them, especially Luke and Shankar, seemed to ignore Ellison entirely. 

“If there’s not gonna be a robbery, what would you need us for, Phil?” Luke asked. 

Ellison let out an incredulous sound. 

Phil ignored him. “Well, good cons rely on misdirection. Distraction.” He spoke confidently, dealing once again with the surreal feeling of having no idea how he knew anything he was saying, but sure that it was right. “Something more subtle than robbery. Something less likely to get someone killed, too.” 

Andrews smirked. “Does that matter?” 

Phil’s eyes snapped over to him. “Nobody gets hurt. I don’t care what’s happened before now, I don’t care if we do it my way or Ellison’s. But nobody gets hurt. Simple as that.” 

“Who the hell do you--” 

Phil spoke over Ellison, going back to answering Luke. “We still need a driver, still need lookouts, just in a new way. There’s a few different approaches we could work out, for different types of situations. Being adaptable is important. Hell, if we could get some clue about the security systems they’re running, we could go in after closing.” 

“Oh, like some Mission Impossible shit.” Luke grinned. “So you wouldn’t get rid of us?” 

Phil blinked. “Get rid of you?” 

“We...he said this was a temporary hire. Just for First National.” Shankar spoke up shyly, looking from Ellison to Phil. 

Phil looked over at Ellison. 

He looked back coolly. “I change my crews. That way if any of them get picked up for a job they can’t rat for more than that one job.” 

Phil nodded slowly. “That...makes sense.” 

“Thank--” 

“It’s also ridiculous.” Phil turned to the other guys. “If you’re in, you’re in. Equal shares to everyone, and the great thing about these accounts paying us in perpetuity is that nobody ever stops getting paid, unless the accounts all close or the code is found. That means nobody ever gets dissatisfied enough to rat. If one of us gets caught, we happily shut the fuck up and do a few years' time knowing there’s an untraceable account with a big balance in our name waiting when we’re freed. Right?” 

“Okay, yes.” Andrews spoke up, loud and sharp. “Yeah, I’m in. Let’s do this one.” 

Phil still didn’t like him. 

“There is no ‘this one’!” Ellison was getting red again. “There is no plan here!” 

“Okay, Ellison.” Phil spoke up fast. “You and me need to have a little talk, I think. Guys?” 

Luke stood instantly. “Come on, guys, let’s give them a minute.” He looked between Phil and Ellison as he escorted Shankar and Jason out. 

Yeah, Luke was Phil’s favorite. 

He turned to Ellison as soon as the door was shut behind the rest of their team. “I get it, okay? This is your thing. I’m overstepping. I get that.” 

Ellison was full on glaring at him. “I don’t need you, you know.” 

“I know.” Phil wasn’t entirely sure why Ellison needed any of this. He was already rich. Just bored, maybe, and Phil was screwing with his playtime. 

Still. He spoke with far more consideration than he felt. “Listen. I don’t know what this bump on my head is doing to me, but I know my ideas are good. All you have to do is okay it, and we’ll make millions.” 

“I was already making millions,” Ellison said, sounding a hell of a lot like a sulky toddler. 

“Yeah, but I’m talking orders of magnitude here. Also, we shake off the cops for good.” 

Ellison huffed at that. 

Phil stared at him, doing his best not to let his annoyance show. “You’re not a stupid man,” he lied soothingly. “I’m confused about a lot of things right now, so I’ll need help. You must have brought me in to this for my experience, right? My expertise? Why not take advantage of it?” 

Ellison made a face, but his shoulders relaxed a little. 

Phil leaned in, softening his own expression. “None of this works without you. I like these kids, I think we can make a decent team. But I need a partner.” 

“Partner?” Ellison’s entire face wrinkled up. “You work for me, okay? This one job, then we never see each other again.” 

“I get that you’ve done things like that this whole time, but...” Phil sat up suddenly, realizing. He knew exactly what he had to do to get through to this asshole. “But running from cops is something every petty criminal does. You deserve more than that, Bernard. You can become a legend.” 

He let out a small snort. “Legend.” 

“I’m serious. The man who led the team who bilked big banks out of half a billion dollars without anyone catching on? Give me a break, you’d be immortal.” 

“Half a billion?” 

“Easy.” 

Ellison looked away, but Phil could tell he was listening. “You really think this idea can work?” 

He shrugged honestly. “Won’t know until we try. But it’s sure as hell worth the try.” 

Ellison looked down at the list of account balances. He looked at Phil again. “Immortal, huh?” 

“Top ten most wanted, at least if they ever realize who you are.” 

That made Ellison smile finally. “Fine. What do we need to do?” 

* * *

Neal sat up with a harsh breath, and instantly froze. He listened, staring out at the darkness. 

Nothing.

After a moment he realized the thump he'd heard hadn't come from his bedroom. Just his own memory.

He lay back down after a moment, but his eyes stayed wide open. 

He wasn't used to worrying about someone else. Since Kate died he'd gotten entirely out of practice. Even when she was alive he'd been generally worried about her for years, enough that it became white noise in his head, a constant tension he carried around without always being aware of it. 

This was different.

The tracker around his ankle was far more noticeable at night, catching on the sheets and sliding around every time he changed positions. He knew it was...sentimental, maybe, to think of it as connecting him and Peter somehow. It didn't. It was US Marshal gear, used by the FBI. Peter rarely seemed to even double check his motion patterns in the system these days. 

But Neal had made his deal with Peter. Not the Marshals, not the FBI. Peter Burke. He might have tried another agent eventually if Peter said no - prison wasn't fun, after all - but he would have done so reluctantly. He liked Peter. He was used to Peter.

Which even in his own head sounded like a boring way to describe things. He was _used_ to Peter, though. Used to having him around, hearing his thoughts. Used to him stopping by to talk over their cases. Used to getting random texts asking Neal's advice on restaurants when he wanted to plan something for El, or raving about some ball game he knew damn well Neal didn't care about. 

Neal was used to him. Two days without any of that and he felt the loss of it much more acutely than he ever would have suspected. 

So he wasn't worried, exactly. He hadn't been lying when he told Elizabeth that this wasn't all that dangerous for Peter. But he was...

He was _annoyed._ The life he was getting used to had been interrupted. The highest points of his day had been taken from him. Neal Caffrey liked his things to be where they were supposed to be. He was used to uncertainty, but he _liked_ security. Peter Burke was his security. 

He was set to meet with Shankar early the next day, and then in a few hours everything would be back to where it was supposed to be. And then maybe he'd get some sleep. 

Because it didn't seem to be happening tonight. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neal meets Phil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't mean to take so long to continue this. Blah blah Covid blah blah excuses. My bad.

Neal walked into the hotel suite behind his new friend. Shankar was the perfect mark, quiet and unsure and easy to convince. It hadn’t been a challenge to make the guy think that Nick Halden was just the man his team needed. It was the quickest, easiest con Neal had pulled in a while. 

This four-star hotel had been a welcome surprise, to Neal and no doubt to Clinton and Diana, who were currently listening to everything Neal did. It figured Neal had been so worried about Peter while Peter was living in luxury. 

That did beg the question of why Peter hadn’t tried to contact his team, though. Which fed right back into Neal’s worry that Peter was too badly hurt to get away. 

And then, suddenly, he walked into the front room of a hotel suite and Peter was sitting right there, in quiet conversation with Bernard Ellison. 

After three days of searching and worrying, it felt almost anticlimactic. 

Peter was bruised down one arm, and no doubt more darkly bruised under his shirt. He had an awkward bandage over his head, like he’d been patched up by someone who saw a hospital in a movie once. But he was conscious and talking and seemed healthy enough. 

Dressed down, wearing jeans and a short-sleeved shirt that flashed some of the muscle he liked to hide under his suits, he actually looked pretty damn good. 

“Guys, this is the driver I found.” 

Peter and Ellison both looked over. Peter’s eyes moved from Shankar to Neal without any reaction beyond mild surprise. “Driver?” 

Ellison huffed. “Right, yeah. I had the boys out looking to replace Terry.” 

Neal brushed easily passed Shankar, charming smile in place, hand outstretched. “Nick Halden.” He looked from Ellison to Peter, as if unsure who to address. “You won’t find a better wheelman.” 

Literally, in this case, since he was there specifically to take Peter home. 

Peter sat back and took him in, a familiar tight frown on his face. Headache, annoyance. Neal could always read those frowns. 

Peter must have been expecting him, it was the next logical step after he’d been squirreled away with Ellison’s team. No doubt he’d been expecting Neal for days.  Still. This wasn’t quite the reaction Neal had predicted. 

“So...” Neal tamped down on the charm, letting his smile fade. He dropped his outstretched hand without letting any awkwardness show. He looked to Ellison. “Shankar didn’t give a lot of details about this job.” 

It was Peter who answered. “Shankar doesn’t know a lot of details, which I'm currently thankful for.” His eyes flickered from Neal to Shankar. “Get lost, Nick Halden. Sorry, but we're not hiring. Shankar, we’re gonna have a conversation about this.” 

“Ellison said--” 

“Things have changed,” Ellison answered, eyes on Shankar and Neal but flickering back to Peter every so often, as if looking for approval. “Phil says the feds are probably onto us by now. Which means they’ll look for ways to get close. We don’t let anyone new in, end of story.” 

Peter nodded firmly. “Exactly.” 

Ellison’s mouth twitched, like he was proud of himself.  Peter turned back to him, and they went back to their quiet conversation. 

Neal blinked at Peter’s profile. 

Shankar turned to him with a shrug. “Sorry, man. Things are a little weird over here right now. I know how bad you need the work. I’ll try again later.” 

“That’s...” Neal moved around him, towards Peter. “Listen, hey, are you sure you don’t need some help? If you’ve got a wheelman already I’m great at lockpicking. Alarms. Safes.” 

Peter cut off whatever he was saying to Ellison. He turned sharply to Neal, who damn near forgot himself and took a step back. 

“I don’t know you,” Peter said, his voice sharp. “So I don’t give a shit what you can or can’t do. I don’t give a shit about that well-tailored suit you’re showing off, or the five-thousand-dollar tie, or...” His eyes swept down Neal like he was a common street criminal. 

His gaze went back to Neal’s face, and for a moment he hesitated. 

Neal widened his eyes for a moment, meaningful. The tough guy act might have been a help in dealing with Ellison’s crew when he was cut off from his team, but it wasn’t like he had to keep it up. Diana and Clinton were in the van outside the hotel, backup was waiting, and the thin evidence they already had could be shored up with everything Peter had witnessed. 

They could walk out the door whenever they wanted, they just needed to come up with a way to do it together that wouldn’t get them shot in the back. 

Peter frowned; his brow furrowed. He took in Neal’s expression, but didn’t seem to read it as quickly as he normally would have. His gaze swept down, hit Neal about chest-level, and stuck there for a moment. 

Then he looked back towards Ellison. “Give me a second with this guy.” 

“You heard him.” Ellison moved fast, standing and ushering Shankar back towards the door. “Come on, kid.” It was instant, unhesitating, as if Ellison was just a lackey.

Peter must have made a hell of an impression the last few days. 

Neal let out a sigh when they were gone. “Jesus, Peter, I thought you were gonna-” 

“It’s Phil.” Peter pushed to his feet. He approached Neal, obviously favoring one leg as he moved. 

Neal glanced around, realizing that they must not have been truly alone. Or maybe Ellison had the place wired. Still not free to speak. That was annoying. 

When Peter was close enough, he reached out and tweaked Neal’s tie. “My name is Phil.” He spoke with voice dropped low. Dangerous sounding, almost. “And I think you already know that,  _ officer _ .” 

Neal studied him, the pain around his eyes, for some clue about what the hell this angle was he was playing. 

Peter’s fingers slipped down further, reaching into the inside pocket of Neal’s jacket. With the ease of a pickpocket he slid the heavy pen Neal carried free and held it between his fingers, making eye contact with Neal but giving away nothing. 

Okay, there was some message he needed to send to the team. Neal could deal with that. Something he found out that meant he wanted to stay under longer, maybe. 

Peter took hold of the pen in both hands and snapped it in two like it was a twig. The tinkling of the shattered electronics of the transmitter were audible. 

Neal’s mouth dropped open. 

He hadn’t had the feeling he was completely lost with Peter since their first days working together, but here it came, nice and nostalgic. 

Peter dropped the broken ends of the pen on the carpet at his feet without watching where they fell. “Now, since you don’t know anything solid, because Shankar didn’t know anything solid, why don’t you get out of here and leave a group of honest men alone?” His mouth pulled up in a smirk. 

Neal resisted the urge to just blink at him one more time. He spoke, softly enough that he could be fairly certain nobody listening in might hear. “Are you working some kind of angle here we need to--” 

Peter’s eyes swept up and down him again, and something about it made Neal’s voice cut off. Something about the glint in his eyes, the shape of that smirk. 

It wasn’t familiar. It wasn’t Peter. It wasn’t even Peter undercover doing some bit. 

Neal felt his face heating up under the strange, intent gaze. “Okay, seriously. This is getting--” 

“I  _ do  _ know you.” 

“Is that...a question?” 

Peter didn’t give any indication he was listening to Neal’s responses. “You’re...I know you. This is something we’ve done before.” 

He seemed...unbothered, mostly, but his confusion felt genuine. His brow was furrowed deep, and that headache look was creasing at his eyes. 

Neal’s gaze suddenly slid up to that bandage matting Peter’s hair down at his temple. 

His mind replayed – again – the hard thump of Peter’s skull hitting the police car. 

He sucked in a breath. “Oh.  _ Shit _ .” 

“But you’re a cop.” 

_ So are you _ . The retort was on the tip of his tongue, but Neal hesitated. He was out of his depth here, that was clear. “If you want to be technical, I’m not actually a  _ cop _ .” 

“I don’t want to be technical. Cop, fed, I don’t give a shit.” Peter moved in closer, making a point to step heavily on the pen fragments as he moved right into Neal’s space. “I want to know who you are.” 

Okay. Shit. Okay, this was basically a total stranger in Peter Burke’s body. This wasn’t a rescue; it was back to being a con. Neal could do this. 

“I’m Nick Halden, a talented wheelman with a fondness for pens.” 

“You’re underestimating me if you think I don’t know that pen was wired.” 

“I would never underestimate you,” Neal answered honestly. “That’s always a mistake.” 

“Always.” Peter spoke the word like confirmation. “So I’m right, we’ve done this before.” 

Neal hesitated. A stranger in Peter’s body might be willing to do some damage if he believed in whatever story he’d been told about who he was. But there wasn’t anything overtly hostile in Peter’s bearing. Curiosity and interest, that was all. 

So Neal shrugged, hoping if he stayed calm then the whole situation would stay calm. “Not...this, not exactly.” 

“Oh?” Peter’s gaze swept over Neal again, more thoroughly. “Why do I know you?” 

Neal braved a smirk, ignoring the heat creeping up his face. “In the existential sense? I mean why do any of us know anything?” 

“Huh. Pretty and a smartass. Aren’t you just my type?” Peter’s smirk slid into something a little...warmer. 

Neal blinked. 

Peter’s fingers gripped Neal’s tie and tugged lightly. “Is that the answer, then? I hope so. The Biblical sense is way more fun than the existential.” 

Neal swallowed, resisting the urge to back up. Or step forward. This was wildly unfamiliar ground here. He would have enjoyed the hell out of the feeling if he didn’t realize something had to be very wrong with Peter to be making it happen. 

He lowered his voice, trying to meet Peter’s wandering eyes. “Peter, listen. You’re hurt. You need to come back with me, and we’ll--” 

“No.” 

Neal frowned. “You don’t understand.” 

“Sure I do. I got knocked on the head and things are confused right now. I’m figuring it out in my own time.” Peter seemed remarkably unbothered about his apparent bout of amnesia. 

But maybe that wasn’t such a surprise. Peter wasn’t easily flappable, especially when it came to his own safety and well-being. Threaten Elizabeth, threaten Neal, you’d see the high-strung side of Peter. But the man would fling himself in front of any form of danger and shrug it off as part of the job, if he was the only one risked by it. 

Neal leaned in, lowering his voice. “I think there’s a pretty major thing you need to get straight fast.” 

“Oh yeah?” Peter leaned in as well, but instead of confiding in Neal he watched his own fingers sliding along Neal’s silk tie. “I think I’m starting to get it. Why would a cop who knew I could identify him walk right into a meeting like this? Unless you thought you’d take advantage of my current mental state, which would be pretty underhanded.” 

“Okay, seriously, you need to listen to me.” 

Peter slid in even closer, until Neal could damn well feel the warmth of his body. He had maybe three inches on Neal, but it felt like he was looming over him. Swooping down, like a predator on prey. 

Neal felt his mind shorting out, like static bursts. He swallowed. 

Peter met Neal’s gaze again, his eyes dark and glittering. “Oh yeah, this is very familiar.” 

“Is it?” Neal was not used to feeling so entirely off balance. He blinked, trying to get himself together. “No. Wait, listen to me.” 

“I get the feeling we’re on opposite sides of things a lot, aren’t we?” Peter’s eyes moved over Neal’s face like he was memorizing him entirely. “But here you are, checking up on me. Or taking advantage. Either way, stupid. Risky.” 

“Peter...” 

“Phil. And I know you know that.” Peter chuckled, a low, throaty sound. “Tell you what. You get out of here, and I won’t tell anyone you’re law, and they won’t take it out on that sweet idiot Shankar, and you won’t have to explain to your superiors how you got a patsy killed.” 

Neal wasn’t sure how to answer. Peter was so close to him, wearing that smirk that was somehow threatening and ridiculously sexy at the same time, that he wasn’t sure he could have. 

“In return, I’ll invite you to try again. Figure out what we’re doing next and stop us. I bet you and I have a lot of fun with that kind of thing.” 

Neal almost laughed. That wasn’t exactly untrue, but it normally looked a little different. 

Peter didn’t give him a chance to laugh, though. He tugged at Neal’s tie firmly, pulling him in. “I bet we have a lot of fun in general.” 

And just like that, Peter was kissing him. 

That was worth repeating in Neal’s mind. Worth a very explicit direct thought:  _ Peter is kissing me _ . 

It was...well, a very Peter kind of kiss. Direct, forceful. Unhesitating. And persistent; the guy wasn’t pulling away. 

Instead he moved in closer, dragging the hand not gripping Neal’s tie down his side, until his fingers hooked in Neal’s beltloop and he tugged. 

Neal was only human.  Later he would blame the shock of the situation for the way he groaned into the kiss, the way he responded to that tug by pressing their bodies together, the way his hand found Peter’s shoulder then slid to the back of his neck, fingernails scratching through short hair and making Peter growl against his mouth. 

Peter doubled down, crooking his head and probing at Neal’s mouth with a breath-stealing tongue that didn’t bother asking permission before sliding in. His thigh slipped between Neal’s legs, making Neal gasp in surprise even as he arched in uncontrollably. 

Peter was basically pinning him in with the tie and the belt loop, but Neal wasn’t going anywhere. He was pushing into it, unable to put two thoughts together, only present enough to be glad the pen was destroyed, and Diana and Clint weren’t listening to this. 

By the time Peter drew back they were both breathing hard, and Neal’s cock was aching in his slacks. 

Peter looked down at him with a heavy-lidded gaze. He licked at his lips slowly, mouth twitching up when Neal’s eyes locked on that tongue. 

“I know we’ve done that before,” he asked, voice a purr Neal had never heard from him before. 

Neal couldn’t get his brain to kick back into gear. He shook his head jerkily. “Actually. No. Brand new.” 

“Huh.” Peter smiled. “What a waste.” 

He stepped back, releasing his grip on Neal. The smile vanished. “Whatever game we usually play, I’m calling it off. Get lost, cop, or I’ll tell my violent friends out there what you really are and let them deal with you.” 

“No.” Neal couldn’t make sense of everything, but that he answered without hesitation. Peter wasn’t himself, but he wasn’t a killer. Neal would never doubt that. “You won’t.” 

Peter seemed surprised by the firm answer. He studied Neal even as he backed away from him, finally turning on his heel and heading back towards a small hallway leading to the rest of the suite. 

Neal stood there looking after him, resisting the urge to touch his damp mouth like some teenage girl in a movie. 

* * *

When he pulled open the door of the van, Clinton and Diana were both glowering in disapproval. “What the hell, Caffrey? Where’s Peter? What happened to the--” 

Neal drew in a deep breath. He held out the remains of the pen he’d scraped from the carpet before leaving. 

Diana took the fragments, frowning. She peered at him. 

“We have,” Neal said, “a problem.” 

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, but listen. I'M SORRY. This story is going to be finished, gdi. I was recently accosted and kidnapped, kicking and screaming, by The Old Guard (on Netflix! Watch it!) and totally lost my WC mojo for a bit there. But I can do both things at once, damn it.
> 
> Anyway, here. A brief offering so that you know you are not forgotten.

Phil’s headache was getting worse. 

Stress, maybe, since facing down that cop had really made it flare up. He was popping aspirin like candy and it didn’t seem to be having much impact. But then he hadn’t gotten much rest since then, since they had to leave the hotel and move to the next set of rooms Ellison could book for them. 

So that cop couldn’t find them again. That beautiful, familiar god damn cop.

“Hey, brought you something.” 

He didn’t bother faking sleep only because it was Luke at the door. He sat up, squinting through the dark. “What’s this?” 

“It’s...um.” Luke reached for the side lamp and turned it on the lowest setting, and slid a tray on the bed beside Phil. “It’s what my mama always brings me when I’m sick. It’s dumb.” 

Phil blinked down at the tray. A glass of ginger ale. A few saltines. A styrofoam container steaming with soup.

“It’s pho,” Luke said helpfully. “Mama has to make chicken soup from the can, but now if we got this money coming in I figure we can afford the fancy stuff this once.” 

He smiled despite his aching skull. “Thanks.”

Luke stood for a moment. He shifted and glanced back at the door. His hands went in the pockets of his jeans. Then he tugged them out again.

Phil chuckled. “Sit. Tell me, whatever it is.” 

Luke obeyed instantly, dropping down at the foot of the bed lightly. “You said...we all get equal shares.”

“Absolutely.” That was important to Phil, and he had no idea why. Loyalty, maybe. Maybe he worked with a team before and it all went wrong thanks to fights about money. Who even knew? 

“And even after the job’s done we’ll still keep getting paid.” 

Phil studied him, taking up a spoonful of the pho. It was spicier than he’d expected, warming all the way down. “Damn, this is good stuff. What’s on your mind, Luke?” 

“What happens if I wanna get out?” 

“Out? Off the team?” Phil shrugged. “Account’ll be yours; you just won’t get any new deposits from future jobs. You’ll keep making money as long as the code goes undetected, though.” 

Luke’s eyes narrowed. “That’s it? That’s all that happens? I can just...leave?” 

“It’s not a prison term, kid.” Fuck. Another hard throb at his temple. Phil let out a slow breath, trying not to let it show on his face. “We’re not the mob. You’re not stuck for life.” He studied the kid. “Why? You got plans to go on to better schemes?” 

Luke shrugged. “I know a lotta guys been part of a lotta schemes, and this is the best one I ever even heard of. I can’t believe I’m lucky like this. I just don’t want to do it...forever.”

Phil huffed a wry laugh. “I think you don’t want to do it at all.”

Luke shot a look at the open bedroom door and lowered his voice. “I didn’t finish school, you know? I got no talent, I’m not smart. Can’t even hold a regular job for too long. Only thing my mama can be proud of me for is that I’m the only guy my age I know who doesn’t have a record. Not even jaywalking. You know how hard that is in my neighborhood? Cops park along our streets and just sit and wait for someone to shake down. They figure they’ll always find something to pin on us.” 

Phil grimaced. “I’m developing a bad opinion about cops these days.” 

His mind flashed him images of a face, wide blue eyes and a gorgeous jawline, a nervous smirk. A kiss that he could still feel on his mouth. A connection, the first Phil had felt since he got hurt.

He pushed that away. It had been a dumb move, for the cop and for Phil both. 

Luke just shrugged. “It’s how things are. Still, if we get caught and I go into the system...I can’t hurt my mama like that. I’m just trying to take care of her and my brothers. I was close to walking when they were talking about guns and shooting things up, but I feel alright about it now that you’re calling the shots. I don’t wanna push my luck, though.”

Phil nodded. “I hear you. And I have no problem with it. First National, and then if you want to be out, you’re out. I’ll make sure Ellison doesn’t fuck you over with the money.” 

Luke met his eyes for a moment, searching, then breathed out as he relaxed all over. “Thanks.” He smiled, small and warm. “You think it’ll be a lot?” 

Phil smiled back. “I think from now on when your mom’s sick she’ll be able to have all the fancy pho she wants.” 

Luke beamed. 

* * *

Elizabeth opened the door fast. “Bad news?”

Neal moved into the house, in no mood to stall or be polite. “No news at all. They’ve vanished, they’re not on any radars we can pick up. And by ‘we’ I mean both the FBI and Mozzie. Ellison isn’t that smart, so...” He shrugged. “We’re pretty sure Peter’s calling the shots now somehow.” 

She whistled, shutting the door and following Neal to the kitchen. “Well, I guess if anyone is equipped to become a genius crime lord, it’s my husband.” 

“He did learn from the best.” Neal went right to the fridge, helping himself to one of Peter’s beers. 

Elizabeth leaned in the doorway and watched him, eyebrows hiking up. She was aware of his aversion to beer. “Bad day?” 

“I don’t like being on this side of a manhunt,” he answered, taking a deep draw off the beer. He shuddered – he _really_ didn’t like beer – but took another drink. 

He wasn’t being entirely honest, and he came to the Burke house to be entirely honest. Damn it. 

So he set the beer down, drew in a strengthening breath, and turned to face her. 

“He kissed me.” 

She stared at him. 

“Peter.” 

Her eyebrows flew up. “Peter.”

Neal nodded solemnly. “When I caught up to him this morning. He...you know, he isn’t in his right mind. Obviously. He doesn’t even remember he’s married. Or straight, apparently. I mean, I assume he doesn’t, because. He would never. But still, it happened. I’m sorry.”

Her lips pressed together as he went on, and it took Neal a moment to realize...

“Are you _amused_ by this?”

She cleared her throat, but her eyes were glittering. “Answer me one thing. And be honest.”

He hesitated. “Okay.”

“How was it? The kiss?” 

His face heated up. “Honestly?” 

Her mouth was already twitching upwards. 

Neal groaned and dropped into the closest chair at the kitchen table. “I’ve never been kissed like that in my life. And I have been kissed often. And well.” 

He could still feel it, almost. The hot press of lips, the slide of tongues. Peter’s fingers grasping at his belt loop, pulling him in tighter. Hot breath, the rasp of stubble. So fucking assertive. Urgency in it somehow. Like Peter was looking for answers to his missing memories in Neal’s tonsils.

Jesus.

“That’s my guy.” 

Neal blinked up at her. 

Elizabeth was grinning. “He can’t flirt to save his life, but he can use the hell out of his mouth when it counts.” 

“Okay, was I wrong for thinking you’d take this a little worse?”

She went to the cupboard and, bless her, pulled out a bottle of wine. 

Neal got up instantly to get glasses, as familiar with the Burke kitchen as he was with his own. He set the half-empty beer in the sink. 

“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” she said as she worked the cork out of the bottle. “The amnesia thing is scary, and I don’t like the idea that he might get himself killed by either the bad guys or some random cops. I want him back. This kind of thing...” She sighed. “There’s nothing worse than going to bed alone, wondering where he is and if he’s sleeping, if he’s okay. It’s been _days_ now.”

Neal set the glasses down on the table. “I guess in perspective a kiss isn’t something to get worked up over.” If only he could make his own brain believe that. 

“A kiss is...” She poured their glasses conspicuously full, nearly emptying the bottle entirely. That more than anything spoke to her stress level. “Well, it’s the least surprising news I’ve heard about him today, I’ll say that.” 

“But...”

“Neal. Sit.”

Neal slid back into the chair, curiosity rising.

She sat across from him after a moment. “Peter and I... would you say we’re a good couple?”

“Are you kidding? You’re the only married couple I’ve ever met that actually makes me believe in the whole institution.” 

She smiled at that. “You and me both. I don’t go a day without realizing how lucky I am. We both are. But to get to this place, we decided early on that we had to be as honest with each other as possible.”

Neal took his glass. “Honest once he stopped secretly stalking you?”

She laughed. “And his guilt about that was how the whole thing first came up. We are open with each other about everything, past and present.”

“Okay.” Neal sipped the wine. Not bad. Mid-range, not aged enough, but much better than Peter’s beer.

“We’re both bisexual.” 

He saved himself the indignity of a spit-take, but only barely. He swallowed in a hurry, only choking a little.

She smiled. “We talked about it from the start. Me, I’ve always been equally attracted to men and women. Peter...” She shrugged. “Except for a woman he dated at Quantico, every serious relationship he had before me was with a man.” 

Neal knew his mouth was slack, but he couldn’t seem to get his jaw to move. 

“He told me that he’d always been attracted to men primarily, but it didn’t make his attraction to women less real. Don’t ever doubt that he loves me. Often, and well,” she added with a grin. “We could be entirely happy for the rest of our lives if we never slept with anyone else. But because we’re honest and open about it, we don’t have to prove that.”

“Wait. Are you...you two don’t have an open relationship. I would have noticed by now.” 

“Not in any traditional sense. I would never sleep with another man. Peter gives me everything I could need. But every now and then...” 

“You want to be with a woman.” He wasn’t sure if he could handle this. After the kiss this morning, he was all surprised out for the day. 

She nodded. “It’s not a need, it’s just a thing I like. A treat. Same for him. It would never even occur to him to be with another woman. I mean, never. The way he is, his brain isn’t wired to even look at them as sexual beings anymore, because he has me.”

“Which is why his lack of flirting skills have literally almost gotten him killed.” 

Elizabeth lofted her glass in toast. “Well, he really is a horrible flirt in general.”

Neal wasn’t sure he believed this. It was an absurd thing to lie about, especially considering the situation Peter was in, but. Come on. 

He tested her out. “So...if Peter decides he’s...you know, craving...”

She waved a hand. “Don’t tiptoe around it. Peter and I never do. If he wants cock, he can go get it.”

“You’re talking to me about cock. Elizabeth Burke just said ‘cock’ to me. This is surreal.” 

“Have I ever struck you as being particularly prudish?” 

That was a point. Still. Neal took a fortifying sip of wine. “Does he...?”

“Not often.” She saw his expression and smiled knowingly. “Since you started working with him, only once.” 

He hadn’t quite realized he specifically wanted to know that until she said it. 

And...wow. At some point in the last two years Peter Burke had a fling with a man. He’d slept with some random guy and then come to work and not said a damn thing to Neal.

“You can ask whatever you want.” 

Neal scoffed. “Where to start.” He focused, rubbing fingers over his mouth absently to try and clear away the ghost of Peter’s lips. “Okay. I know there are rules. It’s Peter.”

She laughed. “Of course. They’re relatively simple, though. We tell each other beforehand. We don’t lie to anyone we’re going to sleep with; they know exactly what our situation is. We’re safe, of course. And...” She grinned, her cheeks spreading with pink. “We tell each other about it again afterwards.” 

“Oh my god.” Neal shook his head, but shock was starting to give way to a kind of admiration. “You kinky little geniuses.” 

“It works. It’s worked for us for more than a decade. I worried some at the start, that he’d start wanting to be with men more and more, or that some casual one-night stand would somehow rope him in. But it’s never happened, and we’re stronger for it.”

It made sense, really. At least it explained why Peter without his memories would be so obviously attracted to Neal and not bother repressing it. Amnesia wouldn’t affect someone’s sexual preferences. 

Still. 

If someone had asked Neal yesterday to name one subject he could speak on with full and total knowledge, he would have said Peter’s name. Before Renaissance masters or Picasso or the art of handwriting forgery, he would have said Peter Burke. He thought he knew the man inside and out, thought Peter was entirely up front and open. 

It didn’t just seem strange, it felt _wrong_. Like it couldn’t possibly be true.

“So he’s been keeping a secret this big, without...” He stared at the wine in his glass for a moment, brow furrowed. Normally he had no issues with people or their respective closets, but this was Peter. “He...he’s a _con_.”

“No.” Her answer was instant, and sharp. “He’s not. He’s never lied about himself.” 

He frowned up at her again. 

Elizabeth was studying him, watching his face. “He tells the full truth if anyone asks, or if the subject comes up. If he tells stories about old lovers, he never changes names or avoids pronouns. His family knows. His team knows,” she added.

“Seriously?”

“There are gay criminals out there, you know. Peter went undercover as a blind date for some embezzler once and didn't hesitate to tell Hughes and his agents why he was fine to volunteer for it.”

The entire team had been in the know about something that Neal hadn’t figured out. That was disconcerting. 

Though he supposed that explained why Clinton was so casual about putting money on the possibility that Neal and Peter might sleep together someday. No random gay jokes or emasculation attempts, only normality. Neal had just assumed Diana didn’t tolerate homophobic crap.

And it explained why his crack the other day about Peter being closed-minded had surprised Elizabeth. She must have assumed he knew. 

He shook his head. “How could I have never noticed?” 

Elizabeth topped his glass off with the rest of the bottle. “Peter is the kind of man that someone looks at and assumes they have him figured out. He’s smart, he’s straight-forward, he’s dedicated. People like him are easily underestimated. He’s a book whose first page is showing, and once people read it, they think they know the whole story and don’t look for more. It rarely occurs to anyone to even ask him about things like this, especially once they know he’s married. Our relationship is so strong people never look behind it.” 

“I’m normally not so easy to fool.” 

“Neal, that’s exactly the thing: Peter isn’t fooling anyone. If he was in the closet, furtive and guilty and scared to be caught, I have no doubt you would have noticed. But he’s not. Maybe you’ve spotted him looking at some guy and assumed, because Peter is Peter, that he’s just being paranoid. It wouldn’t have stood out to you in the slightest, because it doesn’t stand out for him. It’s casual. You don’t think about it, because he doesn’t think about it.” She reached out and touched his arm lightly. “The best con is no con at all, right?” 

And, okay, that did ease some of the apprehension swirling inside of him. The idea of Peter being dishonest about himself was impossible to believe. That he was entirely honest, but people just didn’t ask the right questions...that made more sense. 

He laughed, but also took another badly needed drink. “I think I need a nap.” 

“Oh, sweetie. There’s more.” 

He blinked up at her, honestly not sure he could handle more. 

Her smile was gentle. “There’s one last rule I didn’t mention: if we suspect we might develop feelings for someone, we tell each other. We don’t have a one-time-only rule. If we sleep with someone more than once, no big deal. If we might develop feelings for that person, that’s a different story.” 

“Makes sense.” 

“When I first worked with Yvonne, I sat Peter down and talked to him about her. She’s smart, funny, beautiful. And breathtakingly good at her work, which, really, is one of my biggest turn-ons. I told Peter about it, because I was attracted to her but thought if I slept with her it might get complicated. He gave me his blessing.”

He braved a smile. “Am I a creep for wanting to hear how that went?” 

She laughed. “It didn’t. She’s straight, and I would never push the issue. Especially once she started working for me. I knew it wasn’t going to happen even when talking to Peter about her, but we’re always honest, even when it might not matter.” 

She hesitated then for the first time, taking a deep draw off her own glass of wine. “That brings us to you.” 

“Me.” Neal watched her. 

She regarded him right back. 

He frowned, thinking about it. His mind immediately pointed to one possibility where this was headed, but it seemed far-fetched. 

She put him out of his misery fast, at least. “Maybe six weeks after you two started working together, he sat me down to talk.” 

“About...me.” 

Maybe not so far-fetched. 

“I already knew he was attracted to you. We had that discussion before he even caught you, when you were a face in grainy surveillance shots and the memory of a handsome stranger in front of a bank handing out candy. And he always thought your brain was sexy. Competence is a real kink for him too.”

Neal would have grinned at that if his sexy brain hadn’t gone back to the same static it had fizzled into when Peter kissed him. 

“He explained it to me about the same way I explained Yvonne to him: that you were dedicated to Kate, most likely straight, and nothing was ever going to happen. But he wouldn’t mind if it did. And if it did, he knew it would never be simple.” 

“No.” Neal swallowed, throat feeling coated with wine. “Nothing’s simple with us.” 

“Exactly.” She smiled, patting his arm. “I gave him my blessing all the same.” 

And, okay. That was something she just said. Those were words that existed now.

Elizabeth Burke had given her husband permission to sleep with Neal.

Maybe this entire day was one long fever dream. Maybe instead of Peter being hit by that car it had been Neal. Maybe he was medicated in a coma somewhere and his brain was being really, really mean to him. 

Before today he never would have considered the possibility of even thinking about Peter that way. Sure, he’d noticed how attractive Peter was. That was just Neal having eyes and good taste. He’d noticed - because he noticed everything about everyone who got near him - that Peter was strong, in shockingly good shape under his mid-range suits. Even for a fed, he took care of himself. 

Neal and Peter worked together intimately. They were together a lot of days from breakfast until the AM hours. They shared ideas, worked things out back and forth, finished each other’s sentences. Knew each other, the good and bad. 

They made each other laugh.

Faced danger together, which was a whole other kind of intimacy that Neal had never known before. He’d worked with partners before, been in danger with them, escaped with them, but without trust it had always just felt like luck. 

It was different with Peter. It was the feeling of knowing that when they had a plan for a sting Neal could always be sure Peter would come through. More than that, it was the feeling of knowing that when the plan crumbled, or there wasn’t time to make one, Peter would still come through. Peter would pick up on his signals, back his plays, and when Peter took over and made moves Neal would back those without a second thought. 

He wouldn’t have described that kind of thing as intimacy before, but it was. It was levels of trust Neal had never believed were even possible. It was connection. 

It was nothing he’d ever known before. Nothing he saw in the other agents on the team, as good as they all were. No agent-CI relationship he’d ever heard of had come close to sounding remotely like what he and Peter had. 

God, maybe it was Peter. His two most serious relationships were this incredible, unwaveringly strong marriage, and Neal. Maybe he was so solid a person that his relationships all developed that strength. Neal had no doubt that being so close to Peter had made him a better, stronger person. 

Elizabeth sat quietly, sipping her wine and letting Neal get lost in his head, which he was grateful for. 

She was the main reason why he never would have thought of Peter in a sexual way. He hadn’t been lying: their marriage gave him faith in the idea of marriage, it was that strong. They had so much love and respect for each other that it showed in everything they did together. They were like no couple he’d ever seen before. 

The situation itself was the other reason he wouldn’t have thought about it. The anklet, the work. Kate, at first, had been Neal’s total focus, and his relationship with Peter had formed in that time when he was obsessed with finding her again. 

Back when Peter Burke was on Neal’s radar as the one agent who was actually able to keep up with him, it might have occurred to Neal to find him first, flirt a little, maybe try outright seduction. But it was apparent fast that getting that close to Peter would be a mistake. 

Now...it seemed like things were suddenly different. Very different. Earth-changing-rotation different. 

Or were they?

He frowned at Elizabeth finally. “I’m not sure this even matters. Peter wasn’t the one kissing me today.”

“Not entirely.” She didn’t seem bothered. “He’ll be mortified when he gets his memory back, I’m sure. He’ll trip all over himself apologizing to you.” She slid out of her chair, taking her glass to the sink. “I’m telling you all this to distract myself from worrying about him.” 

“I can understand that.” Neal finished the last of his glass and handed it back to her. 

She reached for it, but before taking it she met his eyes for a long moment. “I’m also telling you this so you’ll know that if you want to show him he’s forgiven by sleeping with him, you’re allowed.”

He swallowed.

She smiled.


End file.
